


Side Effects

by HalfBakedPoet



Series: One Shot, Two Shot, Some Shots, Blue Box [11]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Drabble Sequence, Established Relationship, F/F, Ficlets, First Kiss, Fluff, Mild Smut, Romantic Fluff, do y'all even listen to my music recs, here I am recommending music to go with my fics like cheap beer with fast food, it's whatever y'all ask me for/whatever I'm feeling like is good flash fic, prompts, send me a prompt on tumblr, thasmin, they just needed a good snog with implications
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfBakedPoet/pseuds/HalfBakedPoet
Summary: If this is a drug, keep me prescribed. These are the side effects I want for life.A series of drabbles and prompt answers, many of which follow this nifty song "Side Effects" by Joseph.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Yasmin Khan, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Series: One Shot, Two Shot, Some Shots, Blue Box [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668127
Comments: 159
Kudos: 70





	1. Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr and request a prompt in my asks!

“Bit of a head rush, that was,” said the Doctor. Setting the cafetière on the kitchen table, she kissed the top of Yaz’s head. “Long night.” It wasn’t the Doctor’s first encounter with accidentally handling alien hallucinogens, but it was a wave of paranoia, well into the wee hours. Ruddy traffickers trying to give them the slip. Fortunately, the contact dosage was a mere touch of the spores, mostly harmless once it cycled out, but it took its toll on Yaz, and they spent the whole morning recovering in bed, the Doctor tracing circles on her skin as she waited. Hence, coffee was a necessity.

Almost like tea, cafetière, thought the Doctor, watching the black grounds tumble in the darkening water. (Americans called it a French press, she remembered, apt, but on the nose, like the way they called chips _fries_.) Pressing the plunger was her favorite part; that satisfying compress of the grounds against the bottom of the glass, the small puff of coffee silt in a lighter brown. But before she could, Yaz pulled her in by her collar.

“Doctor,” said Yaz seriously, her eyes still soft from waking. “Forgetting something?”

“Right you are,” the Doctor agreed. Over the weeks, Yaz had gotten bolder about asking, but it was all still an adjustment period. And she leaned in to kiss Yaz gently at first, Yaz responding with warm enthusiasm, which sent the soles of the Doctor’s feet tingling. She pressed her fingertips against Yaz’s sternum, breaking off before she got too carried away. “Good morning,” she murmured, nudging her forehead against Yaz’s before returning her attention to the coffee. She poured them both a mugful, and proceeded to dump sugar into her own.

“I heard someone somewhere say coffee is sexy,” said Yaz, stirring cream into hers. The spoon clanked against the mug as it circled, scraping the ceramic. “Probably one of those slogans they slap on cups and t-shirts and stuff.”

The Doctor slowly tucked her _live, laugh love_ tea towel under the press. “Might be. Thought I heard HG Wells declare summat like that, explains why she had so many ideas, even if she got time travel wrong.”

“She? HG Wells was a woman?”

“But yes, you’re both right, coffee is sexy,” continued the Doctor, not at all elaborating. She slurped. It was a flavor she could only describe as brown, the natural oils of the beans forming a fine reddish froth on the creamy surface. She’d sugared it just the right amount and it was a fuller flavor than tea, heavier on her tongue. Yaz shook her head, distracted by the way the Doctor’s cheeks flushed when their eyes met.


	2. Broken Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by ActuallyMe  
> Originally posted to tumblr

“Ah, poor thing,” said the Doctor, stooping in the tall grass to examine the crumpled fledgling. “We must have materialized in your flight path, eh?” She addressed the box, whose shadow loomed over her. “I keep telling you to look where you’re landing.” The TARDIS grumbled back. “Oh, sure, blame the pilot.”

“Doctor?” Yaz peered around the corner. “Everything alright?”

“Fine, we just hit a bird. Or the bird hit us. Either way…” The ball of brown feathers seemed to inflate and deflate rapidly, and the Doctor’s eyebrows shot upward. “Oh! Still alive! Yaz, keep the door open, will you?” The sonic screwdriver gleamed as she pulled it from her pocket and scanned the bird. _Cantorian Thrush,_ read the scan, _common songbird._ Minor fracture in the left wing, nothing that wouldn’t mend on its own, but otherwise unharmed.

“This might hurt a bit,” she murmured, scooping the thrush from the grass. The twiglike legs scrabbled against the air. “It’s alright! I’m a doctor. No need to panic, we’ll patch you up.” She could feel the little heartbeat thrash against her palm as she cradled the bird, gently pinning its wings to its sides. In seconds, the bird tired from its struggle and stopped moving. “That’s it.” She smoothed the feathers on its head with a fingertip.

“Shouldn’t you have done that with a towel or gloves or something?” asked Yaz as the Doctor passed through the door, clutching her charge close to her chest.

“Probably,” said the Doctor, shrugging. “But if I think about it, a towel’s just this big, shapeless mass. I’d prefer to see what’s grabbing me.”

“That’s… not how it works,” Yaz muttered, knuckling her forehead. “Just wash your hands after, yeah?”

“…shoebox somewhere,” the Doctor said distantly, already trotting past the console and down the hall. Yaz followed, shaking her head to herself with a small smile.

The discarded Kerb!am box had been shunted into a side room for recycling, but never actually made it out of the TARDIS. Gingerly, Yaz upended the box, discarded bubble wrap floating to the ground like a leaf. An old scarf followed, squashed into the corners of the box, and the Doctor nestled the bird into the multicolored folds.

“Heat,” said the Doctor, reading the sonic again. “Needs a heat source.” Back out into the control room, the console would have to do. The TARDIS complied, warming the panel where they set the box.

“Go wash up, I’ll keep an eye on him,” said Yaz once all was settled.

When the Doctor returned, Yaz hadn’t moved. She peeked over the edge of the box at their patient. “Hullo there,” said Yaz. The Doctor lingered in the doorway to the hall, watching. “Tough little fellow, aren’t you?” A tiny chirp, Yaz broke into a grin, and the Doctor couldn’t resist the urge to smile, too. “Yeah, you are. Was thinking you lucked out when the Doctor found you. You’re in the best hands, don’t fret.” Tiptoeing closer, the Doctor caught her eye, and Yaz tucked her chin shyly and continued talking to the bird. “What’s your name, then?”

“He says you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it,” said the Doctor. Yaz stared. “What? I do speak bird.” Not far off from dinosaur or baby, really. The thrush tittered. “But the closest in English is… Charlie, really?” Chirp. “Ah, well. Good job we picked that box, then.” The bird tilted its head and the Doctor wrinkled her nose. “Long story.”

“Pleasure to meet you, then, Charlie,” said Yaz. The Doctor sidled nearer and Yaz slid an arm around her waist, sending a small shock up the Doctor’s spine. She pressed closer and Yaz rested her head on the Doctor’s shoulder. The bird blinked up at them both, and opened his beak.

“Oh! Got a couple crickets somewhere,” said the Doctor, patting her coat pockets. “Still young, him,” she said as she dangled the dead insect over him, and Charlie snatched the cricket, gulping. “Was that your first flight, Charlie?” Cheep. “Ah, so sorry. Shall we tell your family we’ll take care of you while your wing mends?” Chirrup. “Right you are, I’ll tell them. We’ll be back, you take it easy.” She sprinkled a couple more crickets in the box and, taking Yaz by the hand, led her out of the TARDIS, a small melody following in their wake.


	3. Tongue-Tied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by nonbinaryriotchild  
> Originally posted to tumblr

“Thusth a milor murotothin,” said the Doctor, her swollen tongue hanging out of her mouth, right eye puffy and squeezed shut. A dribble of saliva cast itself like fishing line into the space between them.

 _“What?”_ asked Yaz, face screwed up with the effort of understanding her spluttering gibberish.

“Thuth. A mime or. Nuro. Tothin,” repeated the Doctor. She wiped another bit of drool on her sleeve.

“A minor… _neurotoxin?”_ translated Yaz. “Doctor, are you sure it’s all right?”

“Oh, thur. Coth am pine! Bint eel eyes am allerthick thoo catheopia thower en theth bobby!”

Yaz squinted, her jaw hanging. “Time Lords have allergies?”

“Thumb tams. Nuthin woan whale opp en cup bowl owth.” The Doctor wiped her chin again, which shone in the sunset.

Yaz looked at the flower in her hand, a blue, thousand-petal puffball. “It was a sweet gift, Doctor, but you should’ve realized…”

“Ah bint no, bib eye? Mew bobby! Ebry thime,” said the Doctor, shoving her hands in her pockets, a scowl working its way on the left side of her face. If she could have scrunched her swollen, runny nose, Yaz knew she would have. “Thop ew mut like et, though,” she added, looking forlornly at the offending flower with her good eye, then back up at Yaz.

“It _was_ lovely. Until you started swelling up,” admitted Yaz. She found a tissue in her pocket and dabbed at the Doctor’s nose. “Isn’t there anything you can take? You look so uncomfortable.”

“Mo…” said the Doctor, staring at the ground. Her head snapped up at Yaz, her good eye shining. “Yeth!” she cried, spraying Yaz with saliva. “Bwing tha,” she said, pointing at the flower. She grabbed Yaz’s hand and led her back to the TARDIS at a sprint. “Kem blew en antidope en the Tahbith conthole.”

“I don’t understand you, you’re talking too fast,” said Yaz, tripping along behind her.

“Bone woah wee,” said the Doctor, pushing the door open. “Bone hab muth tam buhpore et wheely keckth en.” She made it to the console, spittle splashing onto the panels as she quickly pressed buttons. Then her knees gave out. “Oh, bear go mah legth. Yath,” she said, turning to Yaz. She pointed at the flower, then to the console, which had produced a set of vials. “Gep uh thample.”

Yaz thought she understood well enough, and frantically shredded blue petals into the tubes, wryly thinking _she loves me, she loves me not, she’s gonna die, she’s not gonna die…_ The TARDIS retracted the sample to process, whirring along, and the Doctor started to gasp and convulse on the floor.

“Doctor, breathe,” cried Yaz, falling to her knees and pulling the Doctor’s head onto her lap. “Come on, nice and slow, deep breath, come on…” The TARDIS chimed, and the Doctor drew a hoarse lungful of air, pointing up at the controls. Yaz spotted a syringe filled with blue fluid and seized it, passing it into the Doctor’s trembling fingers. Yaz steadied the shaking with her own hands, and the Doctor injected herself with the antidote.

Immediately, her wheezing cleared and she gasped to catch her breath, the syringe falling to the floor and rolling away. Yaz tried her best not to smother the Doctor by hugging her head in relief. They rested a while, all three hearts between them thudding along, slowing gradually in time with their breathing. The puffiness on the right side of the Doctor’s face had receded somewhat, and she could put her tongue mostly back in her mouth before she spoke.

“Didn’t realithe my lungth would go ath well,” she said finally, panting. “Legth, I ecthpected, but lungth… that wath a thrill, wathn’t it, Yath?”

Yaz kissed the Doctor’s forehead. “Next time, check your allergies _before_ you go picking strange flowers.” The Doctor broke into a mischievous grin, tongue still poking out between her teeth.

“I’ll take that ath a thank you.”


	4. In the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by timetravelbypen  
> Originally posted to tumblr

The TARDIS lights flickered before they heard the thunder.

“Oi, what’re you doing that for, the drama?” said the Doctor, tightening a screw. “Not like you to be affected by lightning, not on Earth, at least.” She wormed her way out from under the console, hitching her goggles onto her forehead. From the floor, she spotted Yaz, who leaned against a pillar, chewing her lower lip, eyes on the windows atop the door. Even through the tinted panes, the lightning illuminated the doorway seconds before another rumble. Wind lashed against the door, raking the TARDIS with its howling. “You alright, Yaz?”

Yaz’s head snapped around. “Yeah, ‘m alright,” she said vaguely, fiddling with the edge of her jacket. She flinched as thunder rattled the door.

 _Ought to say something reassuring._ The Doctor hung her shop apron and goggles on the rail and dusted her trousers. _Ought to tell her it’ll be okay… right? Is that what I should say? Why are words so difficult sometimes?_ She opted instead to tug Yaz’s sleeve. “Come on.” The words came out gentler and less enthusiastic than she meant. But they must have been the correct amount of gentle, because Yaz allowed the Doctor to lead her deep into the TARDIS, the hallways winding and muffling the sounds from outside.

“Doctor, it’s… it’s okay. I’m okay,” said Yaz, still trailing behind by her sleeve after five minutes with only the sound of their feet padding against the floor.

“You sure?” asked the Doctor. She slowed to a halt. “You seemed nervous, thought I should have said something but… saying something didn’t seem like enough.”

“Thank you,” said Yaz softly. She looked at her feet. “I used to love watching storms out my window at home in the flat. Now they just remind me of…” She cleared her throat. “I was on my own, ran off. A storm broke out before I got far and I was stuck in a bus shelter while the sheets of rain soaked my trainers and the lightning threatened closer, the thunder getting louder.” She met the Doctor’s eyes. “And I was so scared and alone and I felt so stupid and stubborn the whole time.”

The Doctor let the silence hang between them perhaps a second longer than she should have. “Did you ever watch a storm after? Or was it too much?”

“Wanted to, never did,” admitted Yaz. “It would just make me feel so lonely, thinking about sitting at the window by myself, thinking about my sopping trainers and the cold and the bus that never came.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “Dunno where I’d be if the bus did come.”

“I’m glad it didn’t,” said the Doctor quietly. “If it did, you’d have likely been a different person and we might never have met.” Yaz nodded and resumed looking at the floor. The Doctor tilted her head, choosing her next words with care. “The TARDIS has a great room for storm watching,” she said slowly. “If you wanted to. And it wouldn’t be lonely; you’d have me there. To keep you company, I’m excellent company. But only if you want.”

Yaz smiled a little. “You are,” she said. “Will you show me?”

The Doctor grinned back, eyes alight. “Tea in the observatory?”

The observatory turned out to be a great glass dome of a second library, with an enormous telescope in the center. Yaz pressed closer to the Doctor; the windows appeared to reflect the weather outside: nearly pitch black, they could make out silhouettes of lashing trees and each shooting raindrop when fingers of lightning clawed across the clouds. They set their steaming mugs on a side table and pulled a large desk close to a spot of window that was not occupied by a bookshelf. Rain hissed against the world outside, pattering roughly against the leaves, beating into the ground.

Yaz perched on the desk, her legs swaying, and the Doctor fetched their mugs. She, too, seated herself on the desk beside Yaz, staring up at the sky in rapt attention, which broke only for her to check in.

“Still okay?”

Yaz hadn’t been watching the storm, and had instead watched the Doctor beaming at the weather. In fact, she’d barely noticed the thunder, though the lightning glinted off the Doctor’s teeth. She blinked to attention, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah.” She slid her hand into the Doctor’s and scooted closer so she could rest her head on the Doctor’s shoulder.

The Doctor took an absent sip of her tea and gingerly rested her head against Yaz’s, pretending not to be hyperaware of the touch that was flooding her body with warmth. She squeezed Yaz’s hand through a peal of thunder that shook the glass even this deep in the TARDIS, and Yaz nestled closer. Outside, the storm battered the world, leaves detaching from their trees and flying off into the lightning-strewn sky.


	5. Under the Influence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous  
> Originally posted to tumblr

Yaz groaned, shielding her eyes from the sunlight streaming into her room. Even the general, living hum of the TARDIS was too loud, and her eardrums rattled dissent. She squeezed her eyes closed, but couldn’t shut out the sharp ache thudding her temples with her pulse. Her stomach churned, and she quickly learned that sitting up only made her feel sicker and dizzier. She eased back onto her pillow.

“What happened?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. Remembering took longer than she would have liked, the last night’s events tiptoeing around her headache to the front of her mind.

_“Yaz, I have two livers, alcohol isn’t going to much affect—”_

_“Oh, come on, Doctor, it’s only a night out,” begged Yaz._

_The Doctor tapped the sonic against her lips, regarding Yaz’s best pleading expression: her eyes wide, mouth forming the subtlest pout. “Alright, just a little while. Guess this makes me your chosen chauffer?”_

_“Designated driver,” laughed Yaz. “If flying the TARDIS counts as driving.”_

_“Course it does!”_

“Oh.” How much had she had? Yaz hid under the crook of her elbow, which provided some soothing pressure and relief from the light.

“You’re awake!” The Doctor’s cheery voice bounded in from the doorway, and Yaz jumped. “Wanted to tell you I had a brilliant time last night. Haven’t had the occasion to bust out the drunken giraffe in _ages._ ” Yaz felt the bed under her give slightly as the Doctor sat by her feet. “You alright?” Yaz peeked out from under her arm and met the Doctor’s hazel gaze. If she could feel anything but sick, she’d have blushed.

“Just a little…” She pressed the corners of her mouth down to stifle the fresh wave of nausea. “Hung over.”

“Course you are,” said the Doctor, biting her lower lip in a poor attempt to mask a smile. “I did forewarn you not to try drinking me under a table. Two livers, remember?” The Doctor held out her hand, palm open to reveal two pink tablets. “Here. Chew these.”

“What’re they?” Yaz plucked them gingerly from the Doctor’s hand.

“Little known hangover helper. Shan’t tell you what’s in ‘em, you wouldn’t take them if I did.”

“If it helps this bloody sick feeling, I’m all for it,” said Yaz, knocking them back. She crunched the tablets, the chalky bits ground into paste between her teeth. It could have been placebo, but she thought the spinning room slowed its rotation almost as soon as she swallowed. The acid rising in her esophagus seemed to fizzle out as well.

“Better?”

“Yeah, loads already,” said Yaz. The Doctor smiled gently, and Yaz felt the delayed warmth in her cheeks arrive.

“Yaz…” the Doctor started. She licked her lips slowly, her eyebrows furrowed a fraction. “What d’you… I mean, d’you remember anything? From last night.”

Yaz frowned, her mind replaying flickers of the Doctor good-naturedly humoring her request for shots, the rainbow lights of the dance floor and the Doctor’s waving arms stretched to the ceiling, and—

_“Come on, Yaz, I think you’ve had enough…” The Doctor ducked under Yaz’s arm, supporting as she led her toward the door._

_“No…” Yaz protested. “Was having fun, Doc…” She hiccupped._

_“You know what else is fun? The TARDIS. Lots of fun stuff in the TARDIS, like custard creams and a Jacuzzi.” The Doctor continued firmly walking them past the bouncer and into the night. “Goes all over the universe as well, if you fancy a trip somewhere else.”_

_“’S bigger on the inside,” Yaz agreed. Her legs felt rubbery, but she obediently let the Doctor half-carry her. “’N you, you’re fun.”_

_“That’s right, I am. Not much further. Good job I parked so close.” They turned a corner and the TARDIS lights greeted them, filtering through the windows above the door. The door swung open of its own accord, and the Doctor murmured a small thanks to the TARDIS, nudging the door closed behind them with her foot. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” Yaz gasped. “What?”_

_“Bed,” said Yaz, her eyes drooping and unfocused despite the sharp clarity of her realization. “You’re not saying?” She gripped the front of the Doctor’s shirt to steady herself. The Doctor’s eyebrows lifted, the space between them creasing. “Oh, get on with—” Yaz pulled her in and clumsily mashed her mouth against the Doctor’s._

Yaz felt the heat in her face spread all the way around her head to the nape of her neck; her ears might have been smoking. The roots of her hair felt like hot wires. She sunk deeper into her blankets, pulling them up over her nose. “I didn’t.” The sick feeling had returned with a vengeance. “That didn’t happen,” she said miserably, watching the Doctor, who avoided her eyes. She’d been _meaning_ to talk to the Doctor about her feelings but... not like _that_. 

“You were… certainly enthusiastic,” said the Doctor carefully.

“Please tell me we didn’t… I didn’t…” Yaz’s voice came out muffled.

“No,” said the Doctor. “Nothing like that.” Yaz exhaled. “Handy you were so eager to get to bed, though, just had to tell you I needed something in the other room, came back with a cuppa and you were asleep already.” She scratched her chin. “Wasn’t about to get on with things without consent, anyway,” she muttered.

Yaz resolved to spend the rest of the day hiding under the covers.


	6. Holding the Stars in Place

If there was something Yaz wouldn’t ever tire of, it was the Doctor leading her by the hand to somewhere new: over the tops of trees with leaves broad and strong enough to walk across, deep into a rainbow cavern illuminated by bioluminescent algae, scaling glittering sand and snow dunes, leaping fully clothed into levitating hot springs that bubbled into each other. It was simply stargazing on Earth this time, albeit in a remote corner of Ancient Greece.

“…best spot, used to come here a lot to think,” said the Doctor, marching across the beach, kicking sand behind her. “Well, that, and for the souvlaki. Nowhere better.”

They stopped on a large, flat rock, the cool roar of the ocean swelling in their ears. The Doctor plopped down and laid back, her hands folded behind her head. Yaz sat beside her, knees propped as she reclined on her elbows, and she felt the Doctor’s fingers find hers in the dark. It never failed to tickle her stomach with a thrill of warmth, the touch barrier collapsing with even something as small as fingertips grazing.

“Look,” said the Doctor, pointing up, and Yaz felt another thrill. The arc and dust of stars shimmered white against the fathomless sky, more than Yaz had ever seen from Earth. “That one’s Antares. And there’s Alpha Carinae. If you squint, you can almost see Saturn tonight.” Yaz could hear the satisfied smile in the Doctor’s voice. “I checked the star map before we left the TARDIS. And it’s a new moon, easier to see stuff without all the extra light.” She traced the vague milky dust scattered around Orion’s belt.

Yaz laid back, squeezing the Doctor’s hand gently. “It’s amazing. All those stars out there with planets in orbit. Don’t get to see them like this back home.” A silver meteor sketched an ephemeral trail over them before it burned out in their periphery. “Do you know all the names?”

“A fair few. Used to race my friends around constellations when I was a kid. Seen ‘em all up close. Singed my trousers more than once pushing the star carts too hard. Course, I made some modifications that might not have been strictly safe. Or legal. Speed of light racing is a tricky thing.”

Yaz tore her eyes away from the sky. “D’you ever get tired of looking at them from this far? Seems like, with all you know about the universe, you might get bored.”

The Doctor turned to face Yaz, starlight in her eyes. Yaz’s breath hitched in her chest; the stars always peered out from the Doctor’s irises, but in this moment they shone brighter.

“I could never get bored looking at the stars, Yaz. There,” she said, indicating a tiny white dot, “is where I watched the heat death of the Earth with a friend.” She pointed at the North Star. “I found a micro-planet in orbit around Polaris and made friends with the locals, little fuzzy things they were.” She traced her index finger around the Big Dipper. “I kept Ursa Major on track with the TARDIS when someone tried to suck it into a black hole. Ursa Minor would’ve got lonely without her, not to mention the gravitational damage it would’ve done to this galaxy.” She rolled onto her side, a little closer to Yaz. “And here,” she murmured, kissing Yaz softly, “is where I told you about them.” She kissed Yaz’s eyelids, her cheeks, her forehead. “I could never get bored watching the stars, Yaz,” she whispered. “They’re a map of my life, all the things I’ve seen and done. They remember, or at least, I do. I’ve watched them live and die, just as they’ve watched me. My oldest companion, the universe. It’s another wonder to see it from afar and recall all we’ve done together.” She lay back again, and Yaz caught her breath, slightly lightheaded.

“It’s always changing,” said Yaz finally. “But it still looks the same.”

The Doctor beamed as another meteor zoomed overhead. “Yasmin Khan,” she said, “you understand.”


	7. Secret Admirer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous

Valentine’s Day is a death trap in pink, thought the Doctor. All that angst about whether of not someone loves someone else over a card or hastily purchased chocolate. Thank goodness she’d taken them the hell away from Earth for it. She twiddled a dial on the TARDIS console with a fingertip, a fine-tuning adjustment. If anything, it just didn’t feel genuine to her; though she self-identified as a romantic, specific dates demanding romance felt stilted and inconsistent, and if she thought about it, not at all romantic anyway. Still, she’d planned a small picnic date on a remote tropical planet orbiting Alpha Centauri.

Yaz padded into the control room, her hands full of paper.

“Doctor, have you been leaving me notes on my bedside table?” She held a little purple paper under the Doctor’s nose.

“No,” said the Doctor quickly, avoiding looking at the message that read: _Just wanted you to know I love you very much. From your secret admirer._

Yaz lifted her eyebrows. “It’s in your handwriting.”

“No, it’s not,” said the Doctor, turning a crank and casting the beam of her sonic at a switch on the other side of the console. “You know I write in circles.”

“What about his one, then?” Yaz waved another note in front of the Doctor, written in concentric circles. _You have a lovely smile. –Your secret admirer._

“Must be someone else.” She smothered the grin sneaking onto her lips.

“What does it say?”

“Says you have a lovely smile. Quite clever, this admirer of yours, circular Gallifreyan is very hard to—”

“And this one,” said Yaz, producing another note affixed to the beak of a cleverly folded paper crane. _A little bird told me you’re brilliant and it was right. –S.A._

“Oh, clever and talented,” said the Doctor. “Neat little folding job, well done, admirer.”

Yaz smirked. “There’s loads of them. You telling me if it’s not you, someone sneaked onto the TARDIS just to leave me notes?”

“Not impossible!” said the Doctor, pulling the main lever. The TARDIS wheezed to life, chuckling. “Have you considered it might be the TARDIS herself? She’s clever and talented and observant like that.” The TARDIS burbled. _Easy, Doctor, you’ll make me blush._

“Doctor, we’re _in a relationship,”_ said Yaz through a grin, hooking a finger in the pocket of the Doctor’s coat and pulling her closer. Satisfied with the shorter distance, Yaz looped her arms over the Doctor’s neck. The Doctor flattened her mouth, pretending to avoid Yaz’s eyes. “They’re all over my room and the TARDIS, hundreds of ‘em,” said Yaz.

The Doctor peeked through her eyelashes at Yaz, at that irresistible smile, which pressed into the corners of Yaz’s eyes. “What d’you know, you _do_ have a lovely smile, this admirer of yours was right,” said the Doctor, her face twitching with the effort of remaining serious.

“I know it’s you, idiot,” said Yaz, pulling her for a kiss. She tasted like mint, her mouth fresh from her morning brushing.

“Could’ve been anyone,” denied the Doctor, finally smiling into Yaz’s lips as the TARDIS thudded to a halt.


	8. I Just Wanted to Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by timelxrd

Yasmin Khan was a damn fine police officer, an excellent friend and a brilliant companion, but a terrible mechanic. The first time she’d asked the Doctor if she could help fix the TARDIS resulted rather badly. While the Doctor thought it was a lovely sensation to guide Yaz’s hands with her own over the controls and various tools, when left to her own devices, Yaz’s efforts spelled disaster: a blob of melted metal, oil everywhere, and a small explosion that caused the buttercream reserves to leak. The Doctor—reigning in her frustration with massive effort because the buttercream leakage meant that custard cream production for the dispenser would grind to a halt until it was patched—kindly asked that in the future Yaz keep helping to a minimal handing over of parts. Yaz, forlorn and smeared with grease and liquidized frosting, gingerly set down her wrench and agreed.

“D’you mind handing me the gravity regulation connector?” the Doctor called from beneath a panel of the floor. Spare parts and bits of metal wiring and tubing were strewn around the opening, from which a series of clanging and ratcheting sounds emerged. Her blonde head bobbed to and fro, ducking under the floor and back out again, the space illuminated by a work lamp and the occasional spurt of sparks.

“The what?” came Yaz’s voice.

“Gravity regulation connector,” repeated the Doctor over the trill of the sonic. She held her tongue between her teeth, poking out from between her lips as she worked, tightening a few bolts. Tuning up the TARDIS always required some trimming and rewiring, and today was no exception. She perched on a thick pipe, swaying a little, her boots lined up as she balanced.

“I have no idea what you mean, Doctor,” said Yaz from above. She lay on her stomach to peer down at her, and the Doctor edged into view, looking back at Yaz through her goggles, hands full of tubing, and sonic between her teeth. Brown grease spots streaked her chin and forehead, which shone with sweat.

“Iss the bit o’ metal tube tha’ rooks rike, woss it called? Those laser sword things.”

Yaz cast a glance at the mess of hardware and spotted what she agreed looked a bit like a lightsaber hilt. “Is this it?” she held it over for the Doctor to see.

“Brilliant!” said the Doctor. She held out a hand, holding back the tangle of wires and tubes with the other. “Pass it here, if you please.”

The part exchanged hands, and the Doctor affixed it into a nook behind the mass of coils she held at bay.

“And…” she said, pressing the green button. “There.” A moment’s pause as she let the curtain of wires fall back into place, and then— “Oi!”

With a shrill from the ship herself, the gravity in the TARDIS reversed, launching the Doctor and Yaz into the ceiling, all the spare parts and hardware pelting them like hail. It was as though they’d been magnetized; their limbs felt glued to the ceiling and moving around was much more difficult than usual.

“Ow… What happened?” asked Yaz, rolling onto her side with effort, her face screwed up with pain.

The Doctor squinted down at her workstation, her nose wrinkling, pulling her upper lip away from its counterpart. The loose wires and tubes hung upward at them like a nest of angry snakes. “Oh! That was the gravity _reversal_ coordinator. Green button instead of red.” Her eyes darted around and she found a piece that looked nearly identical to the first. _“This_ is the gravity regulation connector,” she said, wrestling her arm away from the ceiling. “Those laser swords usually have red buttons, I thought you knew that!”

“I didn’t know, did I?” protested Yaz. “It’s been ages since I saw _Star Wars_. And I didn’t press the button, you did.”

“Common mistake, anyone could’ve made it,” breezed the Doctor. “Not to worry, I’ll have us down in a tick…” She groped for her sonic, and a quick buzz later, they tumbled to the floor in a heap, the Doctor flat on her face and Yaz splayed across her, the clatter and banging of parts returning to the ground. The TARDIS hummed a concerned question.

“M’fine, mate,” the Doctor groaned, taking inventory of her body. Nothing broken, but many things probably bruised. Her left kneecap would probably need a slight adjustment, and the automatic chiropractor in the TARDIS’ forty-first room would be a blessing. “Y’alright, Yaz? Yaz?”

Yaz stayed silent for a moment. “I was just trying to help,” she said quietly. The Doctor heard a sniffle as Yaz slid off her back.

The Doctor scrambled into a sitting position as quickly as her battered legs would allow. “Oh, Yaz! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it…” She collected Yaz against her chest and held her tightly. “It's fine, really, nothing to fret over..."

“I’m rubbish at this technical stuff,” said Yaz into the Doctor’s shoulder.

“But that’s alright!” said the Doctor, nuzzling Yaz’s hair. “You did your best. It was an honest mistake; the parts do look mostly the same. Just a little gravity shift.” Yaz nodded into the hollow of the Doctor’s neck, and the Doctor kissed above her ear.

Yaz peeked up, smudging her nose in the brown oil spot on the Doctor’s chin. “Is it really okay?” she asked in a whisper.

“No harm done,” said the Doctor, making a mental note to save trickier maintenance jobs for when Yaz was asleep. She licked her thumb and polished the spot off Yaz’s nose. Yaz pulled a face and recoiled, which made them both smile after a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends!
> 
> I see you've found my new project: a series of drabbles and ficlets prompted by all of you. If you're on tumblr and want to send a prompt for this series, give me a shout in my asks or messages, @halfbakedpoet. I'm looking forward to hearing from you!
> 
> As with all of my fics, hit any buttons you like, or not. Stay safe, be kind.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Jo


	9. I'm Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by freefallvertigo  
> CW: Blood

“Really, Yaz, don’t fuss over me, it’s just a scratch.” The Doctor swept her coat back to avoid trailing it through the dribble of blood trickling down her shin. Well, more of a small stream. A little river? She could feel the warm wet reach the edge of her sock, and it had already soaked through her trouser knee, the blue dyed a dark brown. She wasn’t normally clumsy—socially, perhaps, not physically—but on this occasion, they’d been running from a pack of hungry Calithenian wolves—sentient, radioactive creatures double the size of a prehistoric Earth dire wolf—and they were mere steps from the TARDIS when she’d tripped on a rabbit hole, gashing her knee on a convenient jut of rock. She tried to hide her slight limp, the cut stinging as she edged around the controls.

“Doesn’t look like just a scratch,” said Yaz, eyeing the deep orange-tinted droplets scattered on the floor. “Let me take a look? I’ve got first aid and everything.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” said the Doctor, pulling the lever. The TARDIS wheezed off with the familiar jerk, and the Doctor stumbled to the floor.

“Sure you’re fine,” said Yaz, pulling the Doctor’s arm over her shoulders. “Only fell over from injury and blood loss. Quit being stubborn and let me patch you up.”

“I still don’t see a reason to fuss,” said the Doctor, scowling as Yaz pulled off her boot and sock for her. She sat on the examination table in the TARDIS medical bay with her coat puddled around her hips, arms crossed. “Who’s the Doctor here, anyway?”

“Not you, not right now,” said Yaz firmly, making a face as she set the boot on the floor.

The Doctor huffed. “Gauze is in the top drawer to your right,” she said, switching on the lamp that hung over her head. Better to give in and let Yaz fuss, or else she’d really fret. Rather impressive gash, if she looked at it properly, she thought, extending her leg for a better look under the fluorescent light, a fresh dribble escaping to her ankle. She wiggled her toes in greeting to herself; it’d been a while since she’d seen them.

“Thank you,” said Yaz, returning with bandages and disinfectant wipes. She tore open a packet, pulling the cloth free, paper fluttering to the ground.

“What’s all that for? It’s just a little cut, nothing that’ll need stiches or—” The Doctor fell silent in a wince as Yaz started mopping around the wound with insistent pressure. “Aren’t you supposed to warn me it might sting a bit?”

Yaz lifted an eyebrow at her. “This might sting a bit,” she repeated back with pointed eye contact before returning to her cleaning. “Didn’t know your blood was a different color from mine.” She paused to open another wipe, the first one soiled with splotches of dark orange.

“Good old Time Lord physiology,” said the Doctor. “It’s the temporal platelets and minor regenerative particles. Almost as good as regeneration energy itself, look.”

The cloth came away from the gash itself, and it did appear to be healing on its own; already, it had stopped bleeding. Yaz mopped down the Doctor’s shin, appreciating the fine blonde hairs that were growing in there. Last of the blood cleared and antibiotic ointment applied, Yaz taped a gauze pad over the wound in a white square, which the Doctor admired, her toes pointing at the ceiling as she extended her leg for a look again.

“I’ve got some stickers in the second drawer on the left,” said the Doctor.

Collecting the wrappers on the floor, Yaz rolled her eyes. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“Very.”

Yaz returned with an anatomically correct double heart sticker, which she placed gently on the bandage tape, kneeling. “Anything else?” The Doctor could tell from the pitch of her voice that Yaz was bordering on slight exasperation, and she tried not to smirk.

“Kiss it better?”

“Doctor.” Yaz crossed her arms.

“What? It’ll help the healing process, I promise! Temporal platelets need a little love for better activation, see if they don’t.”

“I’m not kissing your knee.”

“Fine,” huffed the Doctor. “I’ll just bleed out and—” She gasped as Yaz did exactly what she said. She didn’t kiss the Doctor's knee, but rather the small patch of exposed inner thigh at the edge of her rolled up trousers. Yaz rose from the ground between the Doctor’s knees, trailing kisses along her shirt, up her neck, until she found her way along the Doctor’s jaw to her lips. The Doctor made a soft noise against Yaz’s mouth; her ears burning, toes curling as she crossed her ankles to pull Yaz closer in the circle of her legs. Yaz pushed her backward onto the examination table and she complied, whimpering into another kiss that set all of her cells alight.

Following, Yaz clambered onto the Doctor’s hips, pressing her into the cushion of the table as her kisses grew more forceful. Her mouth made its way back to the crook of the Doctor’s neck, and she nibbled the thin skin along her clavicle.

“Yaz,” gasped the Doctor, finding her hands and lacing their fingers tightly. That lamplight was too bright in her eyes; she squinted, distracted. “Could you—”

Yaz popped back up, too quickly, and whacked her head on the lamp.

“Aw, warn me next time,” said Yaz, screwing up her face as she rubbed the spot she’d hit.

“Sorry. Was trying to tell you about it, but…” The Doctor trailed off, more aware of the way her body generated heat, her hearts pounding double time as she panted. She propped herself onto her elbows and Yaz adjusted with her. From below, she lined her own kisses along Yaz’s jaw toward her ear, to breathe, “Bump like that, I’d say you need a doctor. Office hours elsewhere?”

Yaz didn’t need to be asked twice.


	10. Walk Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by imwaybeyondconfused on tumblr

“Doctor, you’ve landed us a bit away from my flat.” Yaz peeked out the TARDIS door, and while she recognized the neighborhood, she knew it was a good distance from her block. She estimated at least a kilometer’s walk in the waft of humid summer air that stroked her cheek with the scent of evaporated rain.

“Course I have,” said the Doctor, sidling up to her. “Thought I might walk you home, it’s a perfect evening for it.”

“If you like the damp,” said Yaz, spotting shallow puddles in the asphalt.

“I do like the damp, least this kind of damp when it’s warm, but we can go a little further forward to when it’s not—”

“No, it’s perfect. I was just teasing.” Yaz slid her hand into the Doctor’s, smoothing her thumb over a scar on her first knuckle. “Besides, they’re expecting me.”

“All right, then.” The Doctor shouldered Yaz’s rucksack. “Khan family flat?”

“To the flat.”

Theirs was a companionable silence for all of three seconds, not that the Doctor was counting. Soon, their footsteps kept time to the chorus of crickets come to stridulate of loneliness, the grating of male wings signaling solitude to prospective mates. The Doctor realized that the TARDIS’ appearance had interrupted their seeking songs, and she nodded an apology when she made eye contact with one perched on a shrub.

Yaz nudged her shoulder. “Look.” She pointed across the street, to the yellow pepper of glowworms in the grass of a neatly trimmed yard, and the Doctor smiled. Just like stars, she thought, squeezing Yaz’s hand, or the trail of moles behind Yaz’s left shoulder. The universe was an ever-unfolding mirror of itself, constantly reminding her of the largeness and smallness of its infinite reserves of self. The glowworms wriggled and blinked, angling for a place to lay eggs with a male. Blushing, the Doctor looked at her boots as she and Yaz walked, hyperaware of the whorl of pheromones and sexual energy the insects cast into the night. Not for the first time, she cursed her keen Gallifreyan senses.

“You alright?” came Yaz’s voice close to her ear, and the Doctor jumped, hairs on the back of her neck on end. She flattened them with her free hand, easing into a smile.

“Yeah, the bugs are making such a racket. I’d ask them to get a room, but they’ve no concept of rooms. Or privacy.”

Yaz laughed. “You can understand the bugs?”

“I only speak several million languages, Yaz.”

“What’re they saying?”

“If I told you, you’d be blushing as well.”

“You’re blushing?”

“Just a bit. Saucy intrigues going on. Whoever first declared summer loving a thing was bang on with that.” Might have been Herodotus, more likely it was Alkibiades.

“Mm.”

The Doctor tilted her head, twitching her right ear. “Ooh, tough luck there, mate,” she said. In the pale streetlamp light, Yaz gave her a quizzical look. “Cricket eight hundred and seventy-eight thought he’d found a winner, but she thought his chirp went flat after a minute and took up with cricket twelve hundred and three,” she explained. She'd counted each distinctive resonance, though she suspected her number was off by approximately five.

“Is chirp supposed to be a euphemism…?”

“Oh, no, not at all. Some species of cricket select mates based on pitch of their respective songs. Rather romantics, crickets are. Regular Orpheus-es.” She shoved her hand in her pocket. “Though I wish they’d keep some of the more explicit doings to themselves. Bit of show-offs, if you ask me.”

They arrived at the archway of Yaz’s block and Yaz lingered on the step outside the door, nibbling her lower lip. “I’d ask you up, but it’s nearly three in the morning,” she said.

“Crickets giving you ideas?” The Doctor smirked and looked askance at her.

“They would if I could understand them.”

“I’m a good translator.” A beat, and they grinned shyly at each other. “If this is goodnight, then…” For once, the Doctor stood on tiptoe to kiss Yaz, whom she could feel nearly melting into the stair. “Sweet dreams, Yaz.” And she had all but evaporated into the darkness, striding the same sidewalk back to the TARDIS. She paused to look back at Yaz, who caught her breath against the door, fumbling for her keys before slipping inside the building.

Just outside the blue door, the Doctor smiled as she spotted the same cricket she’d apologized to, trilling his wings at an approaching female from his spot on the shrub.


	11. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by elektratios
> 
> Shameless throwback to the Wish You Well/Feel Alive/Surrender arc in this series. Can also stand alone.

“Yaz.”

“Mm?”

“You remember when we’d just got back to the TARDIS after you and Jack had me out of prison?”

“Course I do.”

“And you were so upset with me but I couldn’t stay on my feet?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“For making you worry like that.”

“Doctor, it’s passed now. Get some sleep, I’m fine.”

“…You sure?”

“Yeah…”

“You didn’t sound fine then.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Neither was I.”

“No, you weren’t. You’d just got out of prison, yeah?”

“I thought it too.”

“What?”

“That I wasn’t going to see you again.”

“But you did.”

“And you kissed me.”

“…And?”

“I was thinking I’d like to try that again. Now that I’m bet… Now that we’ve had some time.”

“Doctor, it was silly, I didn’t think I’d get to—”

“I’m serious, Yaz.”

“I…”

“And I think you were too, just then.”

“Doctor…”

“So can I?”

“Can you?”

“Kiss you?”

“Doctor—”

“Properly, I mean. Not a life or death thing. If you wanted.”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly so, I’m afraid.”

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I would never.”

“You’re having a laugh because I kissed you and you don’t know what to make of it.”

“Yaz.”

“Go on, admit it.”

“I wouldn’t ever have a laugh at your expense, Yaz.”

“Not even when I dropped my custard cream in my tea because the TARDIS—”

“That was once! Pretty harmless, if you ask me. I wouldn’t laugh at you for something this serious.”

“You _are_ serious?”

“As a plague.”

“…Are you just going to look at me or are you going to?”

“Was just thinking that maybe plagues aren’t the most romantic thing to discuss.”

“No. They’re not.”

“So you want me to?”

“Kiss me?”

“Yeah.”

“Do I have to ask?”

“Want to be sure. Important thing, proper consent.”

“Alright, then.”

“…Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

“…How was that?”

“…I think…”

“Be honest with me.”

“I think you need more practice.”

“Oi! Only had a few thousand years’ practice!”

“Yeah, and you need more.”

“If I’d have known you’d be this rude…”

“New body, new rules, right? This body hasn’t got practice kissing yet.”

“…That you know of.”

“You been snogging anyone else?”

“Jack doesn’t count, he went in first.”

“Jack kissed Graham.”

“Oh?”

“Just saying, he’d kiss anyone, so yeah, he doesn’t count.”

“…Hate to admit it but...”

“Mm?”

“This body _hasn’t_ had much practice.”

“Not the worst thing.”

“You saying I’m not the worst kiss you’ve had? Well thanks for that, Yaz, glad I mmf—”

“…Anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

“I could be convinced to be quieter.”

“Liar.”

“…You’re right.”

“What was that?”

“I said you’re right.”

“Lovely sound, that.”

“Oh, rub it in.”

“Come back.”

“Why?”

“Kiss me again.”


	12. Young Renegades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by tumblr user joanwolfe

“They’ve just nicked my sonic!” cried the Doctor, patting her pockets, her jaw hanging. “These pockets were supposed to be pick-proof, what’re they playing at, then?” She spotted the scrappy gaggle of children, who darted in and out of the crowd on the busy street, pointed so Yaz could see, and dashed after them. “Oi! You rascals!”

Yaz followed at the Doctor’s heels. Never an adventure without running, she thought, spotting the luster of the sun glinting off Sheffield steel in a small fist. The Doctor nimbly dodged a passerby, and Yaz fell behind, getting caught on another’s shopping. Still, it was easy to spot the flare of pale blue trailing behind the Doctor as she sprinted, or else she’d be hopelessly lost on an alien planet. They turned a corner to a dead end; the smallest child’s shoes disappeared into an air duct tucked against the wall, the vent cover clanging back into place. The Doctor rested her hands on her knees, catching her breath.

“What d’you think they took it for? Not exactly a toy, is it?” asked Yaz, panting with her.

“Not to worry. We’ll get it back. I hope,” said the Doctor, combing worried fingers through a side of her hair.

In hindsight, it seemed a perfect heist, if old hat for pickpocketing. Yaz knew the smarter ones traveled in packs in crowded places, and they had indeed swarmed around her and the Doctor, the rush of small bodies pretending to play a game of chase distraction enough for one to pluck the sonic screwdriver from its pocket. The Doctor had angled her head in mild amusement as they passed, bumping along and shouting, the smallest of fond smiles tracing her lips. It was a smile laced with an unspoken well of memories, and it all but wrapped arms around Yaz’s chest and squeezed.

From another pocket, the Doctor produced her stethoscope and listened to the wall above the air duct. “Oh, it’s them, all right,” she muttered, nodding Yaz over. She pulled one earpiece into Yaz’s left ear, and they listened, their cheeks pressed against each other. Muffled, but clearly the raucous laughter of children through the wall.

“Good job that duct’s big enough for adults as well,” said Yaz.

“Might be a bit of a tight shimmy. Love a good vent crawl,” said the Doctor. “Shall we?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled an ordinary screwdriver from her coat, prized the cover from the vent with a grunt and the screech of protesting metal, and ducked inside on hands and knees.

It was a long, dusty crawl, and Yaz balanced on her elbows behind the Doctor, avoiding the cobwebs that might have been easier to circumvent if she were smaller. Still, not the worst of views, she thought, the hem of the Doctor’s coat dragging under her nose. The sound of play and chatter started echoing into the vent with them, and the Doctor craned to look over her shoulder at Yaz, her eyebrows raised as she nodded. Lines of yellow light spilled in across her face before she turned at an intersection, the toes of her boots scuffing behind.

Yaz heard a bang and several small voices cry in alarm; the Doctor must have burst into their hideout, and Yaz hurried to catch up.

“All right, you lot,” said the Doctor as Yaz emerged from the duct, a clump of dust clinging to her hair. “I believe you have something of mine, specialist equipment, go on, I’ve caught you now. I’d like it back.” Yaz could picture the Doctor’s hackles raised, and she remembered the one and only time Ryan had laid a finger on the sonic, at which the Doctor had rather violently swatted his hand. She stood with her hands on her hips among the throng, most of whom didn’t stand taller than her waist.

She touched the Doctor’s shoulder gently, looking at the array of ages, heights and species. “Doctor,” Yaz murmured, spotting the various states of grubbiness of the children. The youngest couldn’t have been the equivalent of a human child of three, and she drooled, sucking on a chain of metal rings clutched in her chubby hands. Yaz knelt to the eye level of the boy (at least she thought it was a boy; he was rather furry) in an aviator cap and goggles, who held the sonic in his paw. “Can we have that back, please?” she asked gently. The alien child clutched the sonic with both paws and shook his head very fast, backing away.

“It’ll fetch a good price at the market,” blurted the tallest, a blue-scaled lizard-like child, who must have been nearing adolescence, as her limbs seemed to threaten toward gangling. “Enough for food, supplies, even medicine for Yago.”

“Medicine? You out here on your own?” The Doctor had caught on.

“Orphanage got too full. Happens when war comes ‘round,” said the girl, looking at her shoes. Her toes poked out through a hole in one.

The Doctor bit her lip, contemplating. “Tell you what,” she said finally. “I’m a doctor. The Doctor. And this is Yaz. Let me have my sonic and I can help. Might have a quick cure for Yago in these pockets, you never know.”

The children looked at each other in a silent meeting, and the girl nodded. The furry boy hesitantly gave Yaz the sonic screwdriver.

“Thank you,” said Yaz, smiling at him as she handed the sonic to the Doctor, who gave the hideout a scan.

“Quite a fort you’ve got here,” said the Doctor, reading the sonic. “How long’ve you been on your own?”

“Couple months. Hasn’t been easy. Maisy’s still little and needs minding, but we work together to get food and stuff, look out for each other.”

The toddler had taken a shine to Yaz and crawled into her lap, giving a grin with four uneven, pointed teeth as she rattled her toy. Yaz could see the Doctor practically melting on the spot at the sight. War-torn children prodded perhaps the softest part of her hearts, and Yaz could see a glint of guilt in her eyes.

“Right,” said the Doctor, stowing her sonic. “Lots to do. Let’s get a shift on.”

Several hours later, the Doctor had succeeded in not only curing Yago, but corralling all ten of their charges onto the TARDIS, and cooking a large, hot meal, all the while balancing Maisy on her hip and calling their names, piloting them all to a school on the other side of their home nebula. A few words with the headmistress, whom Yaz learned was an old friend, and all children were guaranteed places in the dormitories.

“Rather a natural domestic, you are,” said Yaz fondly, watching a nurse carry Maisy across the school lawn.

“Not my first time with kids,” said the Doctor with a shrug. “They’ll learn loads here, too. Founded their Venusian Aikido program myself. Keep ‘em out of trouble ‘til they’ve grown.”

“They’ll be alright,” agreed Yas, kissing her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, friends!
> 
> This chapter might've been a little longer than a true drabble, but it needed that fleshing out. If you have a prompt you'd like to see, shoot me an ask on tumblr @halfbakedpoet
> 
> Take care, be kind.
> 
> xojo


	13. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by frak101: "Can You Stay?"

The question rolled lazily off the Doctor’s tongue as she sprawled under the sheets of Yaz’s bed, her hair a rumpled mess. She reached over the edge, and her fingers—so recently occupied with Yaz’s skin—closed on the air as Yaz pulled on her uniform two feet away. Even if she knew the answer before Yaz replied, it was worth it to whine just a little first thing in the morning, because Yaz swept in to kiss her hair, the Doctor’s nerves alighting to the touch signals like a wildfire in dry brush, her skin tingling warmly down the nape of her neck.

“I can’t stay, you know I’ve got my final review today. Won’t be probationary Officer Khan anymore, all things going well.” With a small, plaintive groan, the Doctor took the opportunity to hang her arm around Yaz’s neck and pull her back onto the bed, snuggling close as she breathed the damp, clean scent of her: water and a trace of soap residue, deodorant, lavender and vanilla shampoo. Freshly showered and groomed for work, a wet strand of Yaz’s hair tickled the Doctor’s neck.

Yaz sank into the bed, and the Doctor felt her breath against her cheek, though she hid her smile in the pillow. For a moment, it seemed like she’d won, Yaz melting into the blankets on top of the Doctor, making the bedding tuck snugly around her. But then Yaz’s weight disappeared as she rolled off, and the Doctor found herself again groping for her. She caught Yaz’s wrist this time.

“We live in a _time machine_ , Yaz,” she complained, peeking out of her eyelashes and up at her through the annoying cascade of simulated sunlight. Not that she’d been _sleeping;_ she’d just been counting Yaz’s breaths and heartbeats (five thousand, nine hundred and ninety-seven and twenty-seven thousand, two hundred and thirteen, respectively), ear pressed against her chest, fingertip tracing the lines of her veins just visible in her skin, until the clamor of Yaz’s phone alarm startled them both and the Doctor knocked her forehead against Yaz’s chin, and, clutching her mouth, Yaz loped from the bed to wrap herself in a towel and prepare for the day.

Yaz’s eyes softened as she looked down at the Doctor, and she smiled just as tenderly, though her voice maintained a note of firmness. “I couldn’t bear to think about potential timelines and patching those up, even if we can,” she said, and again she kissed the Doctor, who blinked sadly. “I’ll see you in a bit, you won’t even know I was gone. Take the TARDIS forward a couple hours, if you like. You don’t have to miss me.” Yaz leaned in once more, but stopped shy of touch. “Wish me luck?”

“Not that you’ll need it,” said the Doctor, angling upward, wanting as Yaz maintained the inch between them. “You’ll be brilliant.” And Yaz let their lips touch. “And I will miss you, even if it’s just seconds for me. I'll pick you up at the station, yeah?”

“Perfect. See you soon.” One last kiss, and Yaz tore herself away, out the door and down the hall.

After prying herself from the bed, the Doctor tiptoed around the room, wrapped in a sheet toga to collect her clothes. It was funny how the roles had reversed over time: Yaz throwing herself back into work for months-long stretches on Earth, and the Doctor keeping the literal and metaphorical TARDIS fires lit for her when she came back in the evenings; sometimes with chips or takeaway, other times to the Doctor’s cooking, for good or ill. She _had_ gotten good at scrambling eggs, at least; she loved breakfast for supper, and that YouTube video of Gordon Ramsay had been so helpful. The Doctor shrugged on her shirt, the straps of her bracers trailing past her hips until she pulled them over her shoulders.

She could swear she could still hear Yaz’s voice all that time ago, inviting her to come back up to the flat for tea, asking with a waver of hope, “Can’t you stay?”

_“I can’t this time,” she said, kicking the dirt, her hands shoved in her coat pockets, her mind already straying to the red sands and suns of Gallifrey. “Got a load to do, heard about a Zygon, a Sontaran, and a Dalek all stumbling into the same pub… or was it a Pting?” The Doctor scratched her chin as she pulled in one side of her lower lip. How many times had she had to invent some new crisis to look after? “Be back before you know it, you won’t even miss me.” She put on her most winning smile, even if it twinged her stomach._

In pattering bare feet—thank goodness the metal floor was always warm with life—she carried her boots and crumpled socks in them to the control room, the TARDIS chirping a cheeky good morning to her, laced with a note of smugness.

“Don’t start,” she said, flicking a switch on the console. “Not a walk of shame if I live here!” Still, the TARDIS snickered and tittered as the Doctor set the coordinates for five-thirty that evening. “You’d think I’d done something illicit, the way you’re carrying on,” she retorted, pointing her sonic at the other side of the console, a yellow button lighting on the panel there. And she pulled the final lever with a small thrill rising between her hearts: Yaz would be waiting for her on the other end of the day.


	14. Opera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by yasminkhxns: "“Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now”

“Opera, Yaz! Thespikinian opera! I’ll bet that wasn’t on your bucket list. ‘Til now, anyway.” The Doctor beamed as she showed Yaz two brilliant crimson tickets printed with gold leaf. The edges were trimmed with silk, and Yaz caught a waft of cognac from the paper. _Etheria, A New Opera in Five Acts_ , Yaz read in an angled script, which the TARDIS was definitely translating for her.

“Sounds posh, where’d you get those?” she asked, and the Doctor tucked the tickets into an inner pocket of her coat.

“Favor for a friend in a tight spot. Studied Venusian Aikido with the dramaturg, said she needed a lift. And some protection from a bounty hunter. ‘S no big deal,” said the Doctor, though the flash of her teeth and flare of her eyes betrayed her impression with herself.

“Not at all,” chuckled Yaz.

“Thespikinians are said to put on the best shows, full stop. Nothing in the universe like their operas. I have it on good authority this show’s sold out for the next millennia,” said the Doctor proudly.

“Whose authority, yours?”

“Matter of fact, yes,” said the Doctor, scratching her head. “I _did_ check. Supposed to be a love story for the ages, full of adventure. Didn’t want to poke around too much, though. Spoilers.” She tilted her head. “Rave reviews in the opening weekend, which is when we’re going!”

“You don’t say,” laughed Yaz.

“Was thinking we could make a proper date of it,” said the Doctor, and Yaz’s head snapped up. “Black tie, dinner first?” The Doctor’s shoulders raised shyly, her hands shoved in her pockets. She rocked on her heels and back to her toes. “If you wanted.”

“Yes!” said Yaz, too quickly. She backpedaled. “It’s a lovely idea, never been to an alien opera before.”

The Doctor’s grin had returned in full, her eyes shining hazel as they brimmed with hope. “Is it?”

“I just said it’s a great id—”

“No, I mean, is it a date, then?” The Doctor lowered her head so she appeared to look up at Yaz, teeth burrowing a deep indent into her lip. She bent at the waist a little, and Yaz thought she saw her fingers knotted behind her back.

“Course it is. Are we getting dressed for it or what?”

Throughout dinner, Yaz had to reach over to straighten the Doctor’s bow tie. It had almost become a nervous tic, but then after dessert she noticed how the Doctor reached into her pocket with a muffled whir, just before the bow tie came undone. Yaz shook her head as she slid her chair over to retie it for the fifth time. The blue silk slid over her fingers like water, and once Yaz had successfully knotted it, she scooted back before she could realize the required proximity for fixing ties.

“Thanks, Yaz,” said the Doctor, her eyes alight.

“You been using the sonic to get me to fix your tie all evening?”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” said the Doctor, waving at their waiter for the bill.

The opera had no comparison on Earth, Yaz was sure. Without even considering the array of aliens in the cast, the music alone reached pitches and harmonies human ears couldn’t comprehend—and they had acquired earplug-like contraptions to translate the tangling compositions. Onstage transformations and special effects were still mostly familiar theatrical technique (”Nothing like classic tricks of the trade,” said the Doctor at intermission), though there was a distinct lack of wires as the prima donna began to levitate for her final heroic aria and a whole new costume reveal in a burst of light.

In each act, Yaz heard the Doctor catch her breath; and several times, the Doctor produced a handkerchief to softly blot Yaz’s tears. At the end, as the two leads embraced and the lights exploded into rainbow, Yaz felt the Doctor grasp her hand and she tore her eyes away from the stage to see her practically sparkling with awe, the colors swimming in her eyes and reflecting from her teeth. She did love a good rainbow. That sight alone was worth admission, thought Yaz, as the standing ovation ended, and the hubbub of a pleased crowd departing for home began rumbling around them.

She couldn’t help but gush as they walked back to the TARDIS in the soft, multicolored glow of firefly-like insects, their hands still clasped. “...And the story was ace! They were in love the whole time they were fighting! I just...” she babbled, but couldn’t find the words anymore. “Wow.”

“Yeah, wow,” said the Doctor quietly, and Yaz felt a tug on her arm; the Doctor had stopped walking. She regarded Yaz with a similar shyness she had displayed earlier upon asking for the date. “I’m proper chuffed you enjoyed yourself, Yaz,” she said with the ghost of a smile. “I’ve had the most lovely night.”

“It was the best,” said Yaz, though her smile faltered somewhat as the Doctor seemed to hover between muted joy and anxiety, her mouth pulling into a line. “What?”

“It’s nothing,” said the Doctor, and she started walking again, but it was Yaz’s turn to hold her ground. At the end of her tether, the Doctor stopped, unwilling to let go of Yaz’s hand.

“It’s something, isn’t it?”

The Doctor turned to face her again. “It’s just...” She inhaled for what seemed like an age before continuing. “D’you want to kiss as bad as I do right now?” The words tumbled almost faster than Yaz could understand them, and it took her another split second to decipher.

The nape of Yaz’s neck burned, and her response could have been more eloquent. “What?”

“I...” The Doctor took Yaz’s other hand as she stared at the ground. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all night, since dinner, and I... didn’t know how to ask.” She looked back up at Yaz, blushing furiously, all the way to her ears, which poked magenta out of her hair.

“Have you?” Yaz struggled to breathe, her mind racing. _All night? She’s wanted to kiss me all night?_

“Yeah.” There was an awkward pause before the Doctor speedily qualified her ask. “But I understand if you don’t want to, though I’ll have you know I brought along mints, so it’s not like—”

Yaz refused to think anymore: she seized the Doctor’s face and pressed their lips together. Their teeth knocked in the first moment, but the embarrassment dissolved quickly into their kiss, the soft warmth shared in the brisk night. If she were shining like the armor worn by the cast, it wouldn’t have surprised Yaz. And the Doctor looped her arms over Yaz’s neck, pressing closer. They stopped only for air. There was another awkward silence as Yaz panted, the Doctor seemingly unaffected by not breathing for that time; the space between them kept small by the circle of their arms around each other.

But then, the Doctor nudged her forehead against Yaz’s. “You just made my night, Yaz.” Unable to think of any response, Yaz buried her face in the Doctor’s neck, and the Doctor gently nosed her hair. “May I kiss you again sometime?” she murmured beside Yaz’s ear. 

Yaz could only nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I made them see She-Ra, it's what they deserve. Still accepting prompts on tumblr! Taking time between larger pieces for Side Effects, don't mind me.  
> Catch me at @halfbakedpoet


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